


Forgiving an Enemy

by agentmoppet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Frotting, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Masturbation, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9608312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet
Summary: Malfoy has a plan. Only, he seems to have forgotten about the plan... Harry needs a new plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betweentheloins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheloins/gifts).



> For my darling Brook on your birthday <3 Also I'm so sorry about the quality of writing. My headspace is clearly not conducive to creativity right now. Best to treat these as a series of vaguely disjointed and clunky scenes that culminate in a climax, pun intended.

“Potter, I need you to be my friend.”

Harry paused, his piece of toast raised halfway to his mouth. “Um,” he said carefully. “No?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes before pulling out the chair beside him and sitting down. “We go back to Hogwarts in three days. As much as I admire Pansy and Blaise their independence in the face of overwhelming obstacles,” a mutinous expression crossed Malfoy’s face, “the fact that they have chosen to snub the Ministry’s request by not returning to Hogwarts has left me with a predicament.”

A small piece of relish slid off the side of Harry’s toast and dripped, unnoticed, onto the table.

“A predicament?” Harry asked in a tone of funereal proportions.

“I’d rather not be stabbed in the corridor, if I can help it,” Malfoy said flatly.

The image fluttered its way, beatifically, across Harry’s mind. Angels sang a backing chorus.

“No, probably not,” he acknowledged, reluctantly pushing the image away. “But I’m still a little confused. Why do you need _me_ to back you up? If Pansy and Blaise are enough to keep you from being attacked, then surely you can just buddy up with some other Slytherins?”

Malfoy sighed and raised an elegant finger. “Firstly, there are no other Slytherins who would be willing to show me public support,” he drawled, raising a second finger. “Secondly, Pansy and Blaise would not keep me from being attacked, they would defend me.” His lips curled into a sneer. “Never fear, Potter, I’m not asking you to do that. But after much deliberation on who I would trust to defend me for an entire school year, I have come to the unavoidable conclusion that no such mythical beast exists. However, with you by my side,” he smirked, “I won’t need one.”

Harry set down his toast and groaned. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Potter, when it comes to my health and safety, I am deadly serious.”

“And what makes you think I’ll even consider it?”

“I’ll consider it payment for mother saving you in the forest.”

Long seconds passed as they studied each other across the table. Harry had been wondering about that. It had been no small thing, what Narcissa had done. He hardly thought the reasons behind her actions mattered; the danger and the consequence had remained the same. It wasn’t something he felt he could rightly ignore, should she choose to hold him to it. The thought of being in the Malfoys’ debt - of never knowing when he might be called, or _who_ might call - had begun to fill him with a sick sort of dread. Lucius was in Azkaban, but that only made it seem more likely that desperation would infuse the naming of his payment.

The soft murmurs of sleepy conversation surrounded them, as one by one the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron woke up and greeted each other for breakfast. Harry wasn’t sure how Malfoy had even found him here; only Ron and Hermione knew where he was.

Finally he sighed and shoved his plate away. Somehow, his appetite had disappeared.

“Fine,” he agreed, ignoring the look of surprised delight on Malfoy’s face. It gave him a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. “What do you want me to do?”

 

~~~

 

Puffs of smoke drifted through the crowd at Platform 9 3/4, obscuring Harry just enough for him to slip through the train doors and into an empty compartment before people noticed him. Given how stealthily Harry had moved, it seemed only natural that Malfoy was only several steps behind him. Apparently, this was his life now.

“Have you practiced that?” Harry asked wearily. “Or does sneaking around just come naturally to you?”

“Perhaps you would be better off asking yourself that,” Malfoy answered distantly, sticking his head out the window before nodding and drawing the blinds.

Harry frowned pointedly at the curtains.

“I’d rather not have people see me with you while there is still the potential for angry crowds to swarm the train,” he drawled. “Let’s wait until we can create a proper public image.”

Harry groaned and flopped down onto the seat. “Come on, Malfoy, term hasn’t even started. Can’t we just walk around a bit together and leave it at that?”

Malfoy snorted. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such a noise from him before.

“No we cannot,” he answered stiffly. “If it’s not believable, then every Slytherin in the school - and anyone else with half a brain - will know what we’re up to, and then the entire plan will be useless.”

Harry frowned. “Surely,” he began slowly, voicing a thought that had been troubling him ever since Malfoy had outlined his ridiculous plan, “if they know I’m supporting you in your plan to be my friend, then they’ll know I’m supporting you in general. Which means it works no matter how little effort we put into it.”

The incredulous expression on Malfoy’s face would have been funny if it wasn’t so scathing. “No,” he said very carefully, like he was speaking to a two year old. “Then they’ll think I’m blackmailing you, which will have the opposite effect to what I need. Do keep up, Potter. We have to plan this carefully, like I told you. Start small - the occasional conversation, walking to class together. I’ll try to act humble. If it’s slow and gradual, people will accept it. We’ll just have to evaluate the reception as we go along.”

“I still don’t see why I can’t tell Ron and Hermione,” he grumbled.

He did, in fact, understand why he couldn’t tell his two best friends. The fact that he understood - even agreed - only made the knowledge sting more. If he told them, then there was no guarantee that the second anyone criticised Harry for his new-found friendship, they wouldn’t leap to his defence and reveal it for the ruse it was. Especially Ron. It was the first time Harry had to concede that loyalty had its down side.

Malfoy ignored him. Before Harry could decide whether that was because he knew Harry was only complaining, or because he was sick of arguing the point, the compartment doors flew open.

“Here he is!” Ron’s grin froze at the sight of Malfoy. “What’s he doing here?”

Harry took a deep breath, feeling the glacial stare of Malfoy upon him. He took another. Then another.

“Malfoy,” he said through gritted teeth, “wants to make amends for his part in our shared history.”

The rehearsed words tasted bitter on his tongue. Unfortunately, it was the only compromise between “Malfoy wants to say sorry for being a dick” and “Potter has realised he was just as much of an arse” that the two of them had been able to reach.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. Harry continued, his fists clenching involuntarily in his robes as he spoke.

“And he’s actually alright once you get to know him.”

If a rabid pack of Erumpents had come charging down the corridor, burst through the compartment door, and crushed Harry to death, it would feel better than seeing the look on Ron and Hermione’s faces as he said those words.

“Really,” he finished lamely.

“Okay,” Hermione said, looking between the two of them. A strange expression crossed her features; it filled Harry with dread. “Did you want us to go?”

Three sets of eyes looked at Hermione in astonishment.

“Why the hell would I want you to leave?” Harry spat out at the same time as Ron yelped, “He’s clearly been hexed; I’m not bloody going anywhere!”

Malfoy, for his part, simply stared at Hermione. Something passed between the two of them that seemed to make Malfoy’s already pale face grow paler as he sunk infinitesimally into his chair.

“No,” Malfoy said stiffly, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “It’s not what you- No. Please stay.”

Ron sat down immediately next to Harry and fixed Malfoy with a death glare. To Harry’s surprise, Hermione sat down next to Malfoy and made herself comfortable.

“Did you have a good holiday?” she asked both of them politely.

After several seconds of stunned silence, they began to haltingly answer, and so began the strangest train ride Harry had ever undertaken.

 

~~~

 

It wasn’t until the end of the journey, when they were changing into their school robes, that Ron finally couldn’t seem to hold his thoughts in any more.

“His family tortured you,” he burst out, staring at Hermione, imploring her to explain herself. “You were tortured on his living room floor! How can you just forgive him?”

Hermione slowly lowered the lid to her trunk, looking up to meet Ron’s eyes while Malfoy went rigid beside her.

“Because he was there,” she said quietly. “And because I saw his face when it was over.”

Malfoy’s head snapped around to Hermione, but she didn’t look at him. Her own face had grown pale.

“Hating is easy.” Her voice had dropped so low they could barely hear it above the rattling of the carriage. “So easy. But I’d much rather love instead.”

Her eyes flickered to Harry as she spoke, but he couldn’t fathom why. They finished changing in silence and waited for the train to stop.

“This might be harder than I thought,” Malfoy murmured to Harry as they stepped off the train.

Harry had lingered until the last possible moment, hoping that he could stick to the back of the crowd. He cast a glance at Malfoy, but Malfoy stared only forward, his face still the sombre mask it had been for the last half of the journey.

“Are you letting me off the hook?” Harry asked with a small smirk.

Malfoy didn’t answer. For some reason it didn’t make Harry feel relieved at all, like he thought it should.

“I didn’t think Slytherins gave up so quickly,” he said mildly.

Even in the dim light of the moon, Harry could see Malfoy’s lips curl up into a sneer.

“They don’t,” he spat, and pushed forward into the crowd, leaving Harry to follow.

 

~~~

 

Harry settled into the school year quicker than he thought possible. A tentative sort of hope seemed to infuse the collective atmosphere, and despite the speculative - and occasionally aggressive - looks he and Malfoy got from fellow students when they were seen together, most people seemed keen to move forward.

Even Ron was trying hard, despite how much it pained him. Although the fact that Harry and Malfoy now shared a dormitory together left him with little choice.

“I just don’t see why McGonagall thought this was a good idea,” Ron hissed once Malfoy had left for breakfast. “You two? On your own in here? You’ll kill each other. I know you think he’s alright now, but that’s just because the war messed with your head. Once you come back to your senses, you’re going to murder him, and I’m not going to be here to back you up because I’m bunking with Neville. And because I told you so.”

Harry flopped back on his bed and rubbed his eyes wearily. “He’s not that bad.”

He was beginning to sound like a broken record, but in fairness to Malfoy, he actually wasn’t that bad. He seemed like he was really trying. If it wasn’t for their history, Harry could almost imagine he wouldn’t hate the bastard.

And if he was honest with himself, he might not actually hate him even with their history. Hermione was right; he didn’t want to hate. Loving was much nicer.

Harry’s eyes snapped open.

“Whoa, mate.” Ron leaned over him, looking concerned. “You look like you just swallowed a cockroach. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Harry squeaked, sitting up and leaping off the bed. “Let’s go to breakfast.”

 

~~~

 

Now that the thought had begun to burrow its way, unwanted, into Harry’s brain, he began to notice things. Little things. Unwanted things.

Like the way Malfoy’s sneer seemed forced, and how it disappeared the second he thought Harry wasn’t looking. And the way he was quieter now. How all his arrogant superiority had seemed to fade along with his father, locked away somewhere no one could reach. The way he focused in class, puzzling over answers that Harry hadn’t thought he would ever care about.

“Why are you pretending to be an arsehole?” Harry asked one morning. “You’re clearly faking it.”

Hermione looked up from her porridge, eyes wide.

“What on earth are you dribbling about?” Malfoy muttered, turning the page in his Ancient Runes textbook and taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Harry didn’t answer, but he didn’t miss the way Malfoy’s eyes flickered up to meet Hermione’s in one of the two’s ever increasing silent conversations. It was getting annoying.

When Harry asked for the pumpkin juice, Malfoy passed the jug over without looking up. Conversation bubbled through the Great Hall, full of classroom drama and exam stress, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, but Harry felt his heart stutter when their fingers brushed together. Malfoy’s hand flinched, recoiling as if burnt, and Harry found he suddenly couldn’t look at him.

 

~~~

 

“Just let go,” Hermione whispered to him one evening when they were sitting up late in the eighth year common room. “Stop questioning yourself.”

Harry closed his eyes and thought of his Firebolt, and how it felt to race through thick storm clouds while the rain whipped against his face. It was the easiest way to avoid thinking about anything else.

 

~~~

 

It didn’t escape Harry’s notice that Malfoy hadn’t once asked him to reevaluate their plan. It had been two months since they’d returned to school, and Harry was no longer sure he even knew what the plan was. Malfoy sat with them all the time now, but it didn’t feel contrived or planned. It felt like it had just happened. They slept in the same room together, and Malfoy had no one else to be with, and they were intending to act friendly with each other eventually - why would they avoid each other?

And yet, although they were constantly around each other, and still passed insults back and forth without thought, there seemed to be more distance between them than there had ever been. It was as if the closer they became - the more the barriers between them fell away - the less they could bear to look at each other.

“Did you want to talk about the plan at all?” Harry asked after Malfoy extinguished the light from his wand and climbed into bed.

He could hear the rustling of sheets as Malfoy got comfortable.

“I don’t think there’s anything to discuss,” Malfoy said finally.

“You didn’t want to, I don’t know, act a bit friendlier now that people seem alright with us hanging around together?” Harry felt a little breathless suddenly, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking.

The silence seemed to stretch between them.

“No, Potter,” Malfoy said, the words sounding like a sigh. “I don’t think we need to act friendlier. People seem more willing than I had thought to accept that I’m part of your little group now.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.” Harry frowned. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Malfoy didn’t reply.

 

~~~

 

It was only for old time’s sake that Harry put it on. He supposed that he wanted to see if he still fit underneath it, or if he’d somehow outgrown it like he’d seemed to have outgrown everything lately. But the fabric draped around him like a second skin, covering him from head to toe.

He jumped when Malfoy burst through the door and slammed it shut behind him, locking it with a quick charm and crossing the room in two short strides. It wasn’t until Malfoy had reached the bed that he remembered he was invisible. He reached up to pull off the cloak and froze at the sight of Malfoy tearing off his shirt and reaching for his trousers.

Malfoy always turned away when he changed, and Harry now knew why. The sight of the crisp, white scars across his chest made Harry feel sick. When he finally tore himself away from the memory of Malfoy screaming in pain, he realised that Malfoy was completely naked and Harry hadn’t moved an inch.

If he pulled the cloak off now, he would look like he’d been watching.

A flush began to creep up his neck, and he watched in mesmerised horror as Malfoy dropped back on the bed and closed his eyes. It wasn’t until Malfoy’s hand drifted slowly down his body that Harry realised just how stupid he had been not to reveal himself at the start.

He turned quickly away, wanting to give Malfoy the privacy he so clearly assumed he had, but it didn’t stop the sounds that soon began to emerge from behind him. He whispered a silencing charm, but his wand was on his bed and he wasn’t good enough with wandless magic yet. All he could do was stick his fingers in his ears, but it wasn’t enough to completely mask the soft, wet sounds coming from Malfoy’s bed.

Harry bit his lip and tried not to picture Malfoy’s smooth, creamy skin, his body spread out in luxury on satin sheets while his hand rubbed smoothly over his hard cock. He failed. Miserably. Within seconds he was hard, the sound of Malfoy whimpering and moaning behind him - in case Harry was in any doubt about how good it was feeling - making him bite down hard on his lip to prevent himself from joining in on the soundtrack.

Malfoy’s breath was coming harsher now, his breathy moans turning into sobs while the sound of his hand running over slick skin began to slow. He was teasing himself, and Harry could have cheerfully hexed him for it.

Just when Harry knew he couldn’t take anymore without doing _something_ \- whether that be fashioning a handy noose out of the invisibility cloak or just giving into the universe’s sick sense of humour and wanking himself where he stood - Malfoy’s breath hitched.

“Potter!” he gasped, and Harry spun around in horror, wondering how Malfoy had spotted him, only to see Malfoy’s eyes closed and his mouth twisted in pleasure as he came all over his chest.

Even if Malfoy had walked into him right then and there, Harry wasn’t sure he would have been capable of movement. He stared at the wall, struck dumb with the knowledge of what he’d just heard, until Malfoy had dressed and left.

It was the undeniable knowledge that he absolutely could not ask Hermione for help on this one that finally drove him to action.

 

~~~

 

“Malfoy,” he asked when it was dark that night and they had both crawled into bed. “Can I talk to you?”

“I assume you have the capabilities,” Malfoy drawled, his voice becoming distant as he rolled away from Harry.

“Can I come over there?”

Harry took the foreboding silence as an invitation, and climbed out of bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Malfoy hissed.

“Talking to you,” Harry replied, sitting on the edge of Malfoy’s bed while Malfoy shot upright and wriggled as far back as he could get.

“Oh Merlin,” Malfoy groaned. “Did Granger talk to you? I told her to drop it, the meddling cow.”

“Oi!” Harry glared into the darkness. “No, Hermione didn’t talk to me. And don’t call her names.”

Malfoy grunted. In the ensuing silence, Harry cast lumos so that he could see Malfoy’s face properly.

He squinted in the light, frowning down at Harry with a surprising wariness.

“What then?” Malfoy asked.

Harry paused. “What did you ask Hermione to drop?” Some very obvious pieces of the puzzle were beginning to slot together, and Harry suddenly felt like an idiot.

Defeat crossed Malfoy’s features, and he gave a sigh. “She thinks I’m trying to ask you out,” he said flatly. “But don’t worry - I told her there was no chance of it, and that she was a lunatic, and that’s that.”

“Why isn’t there any chance?” Harry felt his stomach drop, but he had to know.

Malfoy stared at him incredulously. “Because you fucking hate me,” he said flatly. “And you’re not gay. I think those are two fairly solid points against the possibility, wouldn’t you say?”

The light flickered in Malfoy’s eyes, and Harry could see an insecurity there that he’d never noticed before. He thought of all the things he had begun to notice about Malfoy, and how they added up to more than the boy he had grown up with, how they created something new. He thought of the way that Malfoy hadn’t said that he hated Harry, or that he wasn’t gay, and wondered if Malfoy even realised. He thought of the strength it had taken Hermione to forgive, and the unexpected friendship she had gained from it.

He wondered how he could possibly convey all this to the scared man sitting in front of him, knees drawn to his chest as he waited for rejection, and decided that he needed days, weeks, to fully convince Malfoy to look as closely at Harry as Harry had looked at him. To see what was really there.

He groaned in frustration - he didn’t have weeks; he needed to kiss Malfoy right fucking now.

So he did.

Malfoy’s surprised gasp was drowned out by the breathy moan that Harry couldn’t hold in. He shoved Malfoy back down on the bed, kissing him with a ferocity he barely recognised, and Malfoy took only a second before he melted beneath him. He could feel himself growing hard - could feel an answering hardness pressed against his hip - but he focused only on the soft skin beneath his lips. He ran his tongue and his teeth across skin slick with sweat, and listened to Malfoy whimper quietly, his hands twisting into Harry’s hair as he thrust up against him.

The light from Harry’s discarded wand cast shadows across Malfoy’s neck and chest, and Harry buried his face there as Malfoy stiffened and arched against him, gasping “Harry!” as he came.

As their breathing slowly calmed, and Harry felt Malfoy tentatively curl into him, his arms tightening around Harry’s waist, he found himself able to think once more. He decided that he did, actually, have weeks to convince Malfoy, and that if convincing him involved anything at all like what they had just done, he was definitely up for the task.


End file.
